Interlude With Stephen
by Vargas
Summary: An encounter with evil on the road to L.A. (Original character)


The black BMW flowed out of the night and into the island of light surrounding the gas station near the Nevada/California border. Slowing as it approached, the car left the road and pulled up to the outermost set of pumps. The driver side window scrolled down unleashing the thunderous sound of Billy Idol's Rebel Yell, but only momentarily before the engine died. The driver stepped from the vehicle, rubbing blearily at his face, stretched and circled the car toward the waiting pumps.  
  
The station was a dusty old cinderblock building. The windows were covered with posters announcing the ready availability of prepaid phone cards, bottled propane and discount cigarettes. A lone one-armed bandit stood next to a public phone illuminated by its very own flickering fluorescent light. The front door of the station was open; a counter filled with impulse buys visible within. There was no one to be seen, but given the lateness of the hour it was understandable. A puddle of something like oil or antifreeze was a black smudge near the station entrance.  
  
Stephan pulled the hose from the pump, toggled the right grade of fuel and stuck the nozzle in the already popped gas cap. He set the pump nozzle to mind itself and turned to contemplate the refrigerated cooler full of Pepsi products squatting in the center of the island. Stephan briefly considered buying something after the long midnight run across Nevada. Resting next to the cooler was an extremely long handled squeegee, actually an old broomstick with a smaller squeegee duct taped to one end. It was perfect for cleaning dusty tractor-trailer windshields that would normally be beyond reach.  
  
Stephan's train of thought came off the tracks and he paused a moment. Something wasn't quite right but he couldn't put his finger on what was bothering him. It wasn't déjà vu or precognition, at least not as the monks would have considered it, nor was it the product of one of their combat techniques. Stephan paced around the back of the beemer and stopped by the open driver side window. He reached in behind the seat and pulled out an old Evian bottle that was missing its label. The water inside was at least air temperature but still he twisted off the cap. A figure stepped up in front of him.  
  
The newcomer looked to be in his twenties and was wearing jeans, a smudged white tee shirt with an old denim shirt loose and unbuttoned over it. Stephan saw two other similarly attired figures a few steps behinds him. He took a big swig of water as the first man spoke.  
  
"My friends and I are a little hungry." He smiled and tossed a smirk over his shoulder at the other two. Suddenly his features became craggy as he switched to vampire aspect. "And we were wondering if you'd like to make a donation!"  
  
Stephan didn't even flinch.  
  
Instead he blew the mouthful of water into the face of his attacker. The combination of holy water droplets and aerosol struck the vampire full in the face. In a fit of surprise, it drew a quick breath and sucked down part of the aspirated liquid. A gurgling choke was all of the scream that managed to escape the vampire's ruined throat. Following up the initial attack, Stephan flicked his arm at the next closest demon while simultaneously squeezing the Evian bottle. A strobing, silvery tentacle- like arc of water reached out and washed across the next vampire, causing it to steam furiously. This gave Stephan enough time to slide across the hood of his car and drop beside the Pepsi cooler. With a quick twist he slammed his foot down on the super sized truck squeegee while at the same time grabbing the handle and pulling up. As he had hoped, the old broomstick snapped near its base leaving a jagged point.  
  
At this point Stephan figured he had probably exhausted the element of surprise and now it was down to old fashion fisticuffs. Really old fashion, given his training. Fortunately Vampire Number 3 was suffering from a profound lack of tactical acumen. It vaulted the BMW in a maniacal lunge at Stephan and landed directly on the improvised weapon he thrust up at the last moment. A cloud of dust later and only two demons remained.  
  
Stephan closed on the second vampire, the broomstick cutting patterns in the air. He knew this wouldn't be decided by strength, at least not in his favor. The key lay in finding an exploitable weakness. After a flurry of blows, Stephan came to the conclusion that this vampire was likely still fairly young. It lacked much of the technique that marked older, more experienced demons.  
  
Dropping back a step, Stephan executed a series of feints before smashing the improvised quarterstaff into a swelling, angry holy water burn. The vamp howled and lunged forward in an inelegant attempt to simply grab Stephan. He in turn rolled over the demon and dropped into place behind it. A quick backward stab and a cloud of dust puffed and faded away.  
  
The last vampire left alive, so to speak, and the one who started the whole thing, tried to give vent to its immense rage and pain but only managed a strangled squeak. Fortunately for Stephan, the demon was so intent on vengeance that it blundered its attack and fell victim to a stab in the heart. Quiet descended on the gas station.  
  
The gas pump clicked off signifying that the BMW's tank was full.  
  
Stephan retrieved his trusted Model 1911 .45 automatic and a stout pointy stick from the car before checking out the station. The two-person night shift crew was dead inside, obvious victims of the former trio of vamps. On the positive side, neither had been turned. The puddle outside was not oil or antifreeze; it was blood and likely was what tipped off Stephan that something was amiss. He made a quick stop at the pay phone outside, where he flipped the receiver off the hook and dialed 911 with the stake he held.  
  
Stephan left several large bills, anchored by a bottle of soda, on top of the cooler to pay for the gas and the drinks he took with him as he continued the journey to Los Angeles.  
  
Story is © 2002 by Vargas Delaney Nothing in this work should be construed as a challenge to any copy written material or copy write holder. 


End file.
